Five hours had come and gone since Team Uno’s departure. Their absence hung over the settlement like a storm cloud in an otherwise clear sky. Even though no one openly mentioned them at every turn, they were always in the back of people’s minds—a constant, unspoken worry. With the population count standing at 2,995, the collective mood was tense.

  Some folks kept their heads down, piling stones from the open field for tool-making. Others were tasked with collecting dry twigs and leaves for kindling. Every so often, one of them would stop, strain their eyes toward the forest’s edge, and then snap back to the harsh reality of their work. The summer heat bore down on everyone, not unbearable yet, but ominous—raising the question of how bad it might get in the coming days.

  Would they have to brave the forest if the temperature soared? And, if they did… how many more people would have to risk the unknown? The idea sent a chill through every conversation. Fear was palpable, and yet no one wanted to voice the most pressing question: What if Team Uno never returns?

  Meanwhile, one corner of the settlement bustled under Gemski’s direction. An impromptu workshop had formed where people were chipping stones into crude hammers, rope-tying, and hacking together rudimentary axes. Though the tools were rough, each improvement brought a small swell of pride—and a flicker of hope. The monotonous work helped distract the workers from thirst, hunger, and the gnawing fear they were all doing this all for nothing.

  But not everyone was fully engaged. Some sat idly by, uncertain or too overwhelmed to pick up a rock and start chipping. Others complained, “What’s the point if we don’t even know if we’ll find water out there?”

  Joe, observing it all, grew increasingly agitated. He saw pockets of wasted potential—able bodies simply staring into space, too shell-shocked to move. He couldn’t stand it. With anxiety tightening his chest, Joe beckoned Jewels, a fellow council member, over. She approached, brow creased.

  Joe (lowering his voice so others wouldn’t overhear too much):

  “Jewels, we need to talk. Look at these people… half of them seem ready to give up, the other half are aimlessly busying themselves. We’re wasting valuable daylight and resources.”

  Jewels clasped her hands, her posture tense.

  “I know. It’s a precarious situation. We have almost 3,000 mouths to feed and no real guarantee Team Uno will find anything. Pushing people too hard might burn them out, and we can’t replenish what they lose. No point in working them to exhaustion if—”

  Joe (cutting her off, voice rising):

  “Fuck that. People need to be uncomfortable. We’re not in a safe world anymore. Fear’s our friend—it’ll wake them up. They need structure, discipline…”

  Jewels (sighing):

  “And you don’t think some of them are scared enough already? They’re working to distract themselves. Maybe we can harness that.”

  Joe:

  “I don’t need them just ‘distracted. I need them driven. Every hour we sit on our asses is an hour closer to… well, starving to death.”

  Jewels:

  “It’s also an hour closer to finding a real solution. Fear alone can’t guide us. We’ll make mistakes.”

  Joe (running a hand over his face):

  “You’re right. But we can’t ignore reality. We need to act, and act quickly. Let’s gather whoever’s idle. Rally them. I’m done waiting around. We can’t just hold onto wishful thinking that Team Uno has it handled.”

  Jewels swallowed hard. She, too, felt the noose of uncertainty tightening.

  “Alright. Let’s do it. I’ll pass on your message to other council reps so they’re in the loop. I just hope we’re not jumping from one bad call to another.”

  Joe (expression grim):

  “We might be… but I’d rather fail trying than sit here and wait for people to die on an alien planet.”

  Together, they moved to gather a small crowd—mostly those who seemed lost, wandering, or standing with no clear tasks.

  Within thirty minutes, a sizeable group had assembled around Joe, their eyes reflecting a desperate sort of faith seeking answers and direction.

  Joe exhaled, squaring his shoulders. He could sense they wanted him to fix this, to have all the answers.

  (Raising his voice so it carried over the chatter):

  “Alright, listen up, folks. I know we’re all feeling uncertain—hell, maybe even terrified—and we miss our old lives. But guess what? We’re here now. We have to make the best of it or we’ll starve, or worse. We need to focus on building something out of nothing.”

  He glanced around, noting the skepticism on some faces. He couldn’t blame them.

  “I’m sorry for my earlier screw-up—sending a small team out there without proper weapons, without better preparation. That was on me and the rest of the council. We gambled; we had to. But I take responsibility for pushing that vote. It might bite us in the ass, but we’re not out of moves yet.

  “We don’t have an infinite supply of energy or resources, so let’s use what we do have—ourselves. We’ll break the settlement into labour divisions:

  50% of you focus on shelter construction. We need walls and roofs ASAP.

  30% concentrate on food and water acquisition. Once we have tools—and hopefully a lead on water—we’ll expand that group.

  20% handle tool crafting and repairs. Gemski’s people have already started with stone tools, but we need more, and we need them better.”

  Several folks perked up at the mention of “divisions” and “structure,” as if the clarity gave them something solid to hold onto.

  Joe (continuing):

  “Right now, Gemski’s team is making steady progress with these stone axes, hammers, and ropes. Lady Vee’s group is testing plants and roots for edibility—apparently they even found lavender, which is… well, surprising, to say the least.

  “Meanwhile, I’m focusing on training and survival tactics. We can’t keep relying on the idea that help might fall from the sky. If we have ex-military, hunters, law enforcement, or anyone with real self-defence skills, I need you to come see me in the middle of the field when you get a break. You’ll help me organize a defensive watch, so we don’t get blindsided by whatever’s out there.”

  Despite his firm tone, Joe could sense the exhaustion in their eyes. Day One, and they were already fraying.

  “As for the rest of you… bust your asses. Cut the trees, haul the stones, make or sharpen tools. Burn all the energy you have on these tasks. Yeah, that means you might be sore and starving by tonight. I won’t lie; it’s gonna get worse before it gets better. But when we push ourselves like this, that’s when we find out what we’re really made of. We have zero infrastructure and no guarantee Team… I mean our scouting party… is returning with good news. So we build, we work, we strive.

  “Last thing: set aside one clean article of clothing. I know it sounds weird, but trust me—there’s a reason. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  He didn’t elaborate. A few people exchanged puzzled looks, but no one asked questions. Maybe they were too tired, or maybe they’d just decided to trust him for now.

  Joe let his gaze sweep across them, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He saw fear, yes, but also sparks of resilience.

  “Listen everyone—this is Day One. It’s the hardest day you’ve ever had. You’re gonna get blisters, you’ll be dehydrated, your stomach will be growling… But if we push past it, we’ll stand a better chance tomorrow. We’ll put structure to good use, not to oppress anybody, but to ensure we make it out alive. That’s all I’ve got. Now get to it.”

  After the Speech

  With that, he dismissed them. A surprising rumble of subdued cheers and claps went up—equal parts relief, desperation, and the faintest glimmer of hope. People scattered to their tasks, many rubbing tired eyes or grimacing at sore muscles.

  Jewels caught Joe’s arm before he walked off. Leaning in closer she said quietly.

  “It’s a good plan, Joe. Let’s hope it’s not too little, too late.”

  Joe (voice low):

  “Gotta be better than nothing. We’ll see.”

  As the hours wore on, they improved their stone tools bit by bit. The first few attempts were laughably crude—just rocks lashed to sticks with fraying rope they crafted from the tall surrounding grass. But by midday, the craftsmanship was noticeably better, and a sense of achievement spread like a ripple through the labour teams. People discovered flint, obsidian, basalt, and other stones that could be chipped or shaped. Even those who had never so much as pitched a tent found themselves lost in the task, channeling their anxiety into each swing of a hammer stone.

  Meanwhile, a few haggard souls limped off to rest after hauling felled logs and heavy boulders, but none dared complain too loudly. Joe’s words still rang in their ears, fuelling them with the knowledge that if they didn’t act now, nobody would.

  And all the while, with every glance at the forest’s edge, each person silently wondered if their scouting party would be coming back… or if, by nightfall, they’d all be forced to consider the unthinkable: sending a second wave of volunteers into those same ominous trees to attempt what might already have failed once.

  Near the Forest’s Edge:

  Gemski stood a few paces back from a lively discussion between architects, engineers, and contractors. More than fifty individuals had paused their lumber work to huddle around the rough ground sketch of what could become their future home. The bare field provided little comfort: no water source, no reliable shade, excluding the surrounding forest—it was just a relatively safe zone they’d chose to stay in by necessity.

  Gemski turned casually, to the nearest engineer and began talking:

  “So, you’re telling me we can build an entire green city on a planet we know nothing about?”

  A few of them chuckled. Despite their fatigue, there was a spark of excitement—this was a puzzle they could wrap their heads around.

  Contractor (pointing at the sketch in the dirt):

  “Look, we know it’s not ideal. But we’ve got to plan for drainage, sewage, and maybe space for potential wiring—assuming we figure out how to generate electricity. In the meantime, we need to build something easy and efficient, according to those environmental nerds and other scientists, it seems like this area has the risk of flooding, so it might be wise to raise the floors during construction to avoid flooding and wildlife issues.”

  Architect (kneeling to adjust a line with a stick):

  “In that case, we'll modelled the layout around an A-frame design for the buildings, using logs and jointed wooden frames. It’s quick, sturdy, and easy to have elevated. Also less chance of pests climbing inside, and easier for climate control.”

  Gemski listened, absorbing each idea. With so many skilled minds at work, the settlement’s future felt promising—even if they were starting to slowly starve now. In a few days things could start getting messy without water.

  Across the Field:

  Groups busily gathered stones for tools, while others began testing out the newly crafted axes on nearby logs. The air was sticky with tension. Their first day had already been gruelling; even those used to desk jobs or city life found themselves hauling timber or chipping flint. Every so often, someone glanced nervously at the forest’s edge, hearts thumping with the silent questions: Where are they? Are they still alive?

  By sunset on Day One, the settlement had a scattering of felled trees, rough stone tools, and the beginnings of a real plan. But hunger and dehydration were already gnawing at everyone. As darkness fell, many bedded down in half-assembled shelters or on raw ground, dreading the days ahead.

  At dawn, work resumed. Gemski's team was already busy, using rocks to mark out more areas for roads, housing blocks, and designated wood-stacking sites for their A-frame structures.

  With a clever stroke of ingenuity, they expanded on Sashimono, a Japanese woodworking technique, to construct buildings entirely without nails. They even outlined designs for a central council headquarters, a watchtower in the settlement's centre for security, and a dedicated research building for Lady Vee.

  Gemski (admiring the progress):

  “We might actually pull this off, folks. Keep the log pieces uniform, line them up for the next batch of huts—one step at a time. Remember, let’s keep it eco-friendly. Waste nothing. Wood scraps, pile them and prepare them to be dried for fire.”

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  A few hours later, sweaty and parched workers paused to marvel at the synergy of the planning. Even so, it wasn’t lost on them that no one had eaten a decent meal or drunk more than a sip or two of gathered dew or meagre water reserves. The short bursts of encouragement quickly gave way to the harsh reality of physical exhaustion.

  In the centre of the settlement, Joe did his best to maintain morale among the people who gathered. He fielded constant questions about missing persons and scarcities. Whenever someone approached him to complain or beg, his response was firm:

  Work with Gemski’s tool-making and shelter building teams.

  Contribute to Lady Vee’s research groups analyzing potential edible plants.

  Save energy where possible, but don’t idle—idle minds fed fear, and fear led to chaos.

  He was often curt, trying not to betray his own anxiety: three days without food for 3,000 people spelled disaster. As the second day waned, the settlement’s ragtag carpenters had mapped and partially prepared multiple huts, but progress felt painfully slow.

  From sunrise, the pounding of stone against wood resumed. The few with actual lumberjack expertise coordinated groups to fell trees more efficiently. The newly refined stone axes, though crude, made them slightly faster.

  By midday, twenty huts stood around the perimeter of the planned settlement—enough to shelter only a fraction of the population. Many who’d toiled without break were dizzy from thirst and hunger. Rations were nonexistent; the best they had was a bit of morning dew or a handful of untested berries someone found (Lady Vee had quickly confiscated them until further analysis).

  Gemski felt torn. He’d contributed more than most—planning, directing, even hauling logs. Yet he wrestled with a lazy streak that made him want to retreat from the harsh sun and let others handle the grunt work. Still, seeing his blueprint slowly come to life spurred him on. This is bigger than me, he reminded himself. We’re building a future here…

  At times, he daydreamed about his central headquarters design—a place where every path would converge. Security was paramount, so he quietly enlisted a few loyal engineers, instructing them to keep certain structural details private, like hidden compartments or vantage points. Better safe than sorry, he reasoned, especially in a world where they didn't know the rules.

  Joe, serving as a central figure of authority, had just stepped away from a discussion with a group of exhausted lumberjacks when Ken and a small knot of supporters approached with grim determination.

  Ken didn’t bother with a polite greeting. He cleared his throat, glancing back at the onlookers who’d gathered, then launched straight in:

  “We need to address the elephants in this fucking field! We. Need. Food. And that means we need to hunt. That means going into the forest, whether we like it or not. Everyone’s been tiptoeing around it, hoping the council would step up, but they haven’t. Not after your speech. Not after three days. Sure, we’ve got huts now, but we can’t eat wood. Your food team? Useless. Lady Vee’s research? Not feeding anyone. The organization? Lacking. Water? Scarce and nonexistent. Fire? Absent. Food? Elusive. Shelter? Inadequate. Energy conservation? A foreign concept. How long do you think we can keep this up before people start breaking? We need food and we need it now.

  Call it prideful ignorance or just plain stupidity, but that’s what led to five lives being lost—no plan, no backup, nothing. It’s been three days since Team Uno left. Three days! Their eight-hour mission is long overdue, and no one’s talking about it. It’s like everyone’s already decided they’re gone, so there’s no point in bringing it up. It’s not right!

  We can’t sit here and wait any longer. We need to hunt, Joe. And while we’re out there, we search for them. Tracks, markers, anything that shows they’re alive—or what happened to them. Waiting here does nothing. Hell, just by looking for food, we might be giving them a better chance if they’re still out there holding on.”

  A rustle of tension moved through the crowd. Joe’s face hardened, arms folded over his chest. Even at a distance, one could see the frustration etched into his features. He exhaled before responding, clearly choosing his words carefully.

  “People, I know the weight of our situation is bearing down on us like this unforgiving sun, but we’ve come too far to let despair win. Sending Team Uno out so soon after our arrival—it was a mistake, and I recognize that. That’s why I’ve taken more care since then. I’ve had the excess wood gathered and set aside for crafting weapons, training preparations are underway, and the remaining scrap materials are being dried and prepared for fires.”

  He paused, letting his gaze travel over the worried faces.

  “I know it looks bad, but I want you to stop and take a look around. Since we got here, we’ve faced challenge after challenge—and we’ve kept going. We’ve pushed through. Most of us have lived soft lives, but this? This might be our hardest test yet. Dealing with loss, with uncertainty—it’s not easy. And it’s not something I take lightly.”

  His expression grew more solemn, voice steady:

  “But giving up? That’s not who we are. Not now. Not ever.

  Let’s not sugar-coat it. We’re stranded on an alien planet—no food, no water, and no idea what’s out there. These are facts I know, that have all too well been circling in your minds, weighing heavily on you. But we’re not without hope, and we’re not without resources. We have each other, and that’s something to hold onto.”

  A faint chorus of murmurs rippled through the crowd, some in agreement, some in skepticism. Ken rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt, his arms crossed tightly as if physically holding in his next barrage of arguments.

  Joe continued.

  “Look at what we’ve done today—on empty stomachs and borrowed time. Ken, I know food is your biggest concern, and you’re right to push for it. But I’m not saying that just because we’ve done so much with so little, we should settle for less. No—imagine what we’ll do when we’re prepared and well-fed.”

  Joe’s tone sharpened slightly; he refused to show weakness.

  “We’ve made mistakes, there’s no denying that. Out of all the capable people fit for a scouting job, no one among us stepped up to the challenge, and we let those who were insufficient volunteer to take a risk for humanity, and even then, none of us requested to assist their bravery or tried to stop them.

  At the time, self-preservation was each and every one of our priority, and we abandoned the collective. But we have evolved. Dwelling on our failures won’t get us anywhere. What’s done is done. What matters now is how we move forward. We need to hold ourselves accountable, learn from our missteps, and adapt to our circumstances.”

  He scanned the crowd, locking eyes with a few. Some shrank back, reminded of their own guilt. Others straightened, as if wanting to prove they were willing to help now.

  Joe:

  “Listen, I believe in us. If you’re losing hope, hold on for Team Uno. I don’t believe they’re gone—not with someone like that veteran I saw on their team. They’ll make it back. So let’s give them a home to return to, and if they can’t, then give them a world they could be proud of.

  I’m not a heartless person, but I am a person who just so happens to have some knowledge of what type of veteran is on Team Uno, and he’s more than capable, especially if he was part of that well-known UN strike unit.

  According to the tattoo on his arm, he served till its dismantlement, meaning he was skilled enough to survive anything thrown at him. He would be a dangerous man to make an enemy of or underestimate in this new world, and that goes for a lot of people that came to this planet it seems, but that’s also why I refuse to believe that they’re lost to us, and within the span of a few days at that.”

  A hush settled for a beat. Some of Ken’s followers exchanged uneasy glances, swayed by Joe’s words. Ken, however, set his jaw and pushed forward.

  “I don’t give a fuck! I just need food. If you won’t get the capable together, I’ll be forced to do my own thing and abandon the collective. I can’t live worse than a slave when I know I have a high chance of finding food, starting a fire, and supporting myself. I won’t be doing another thing in this settlement unless it involves a hunt. It’s day three goddammit! The water that has been gathering is starting to taste like washed out cloth and obesity. I’m saving my energy for the hunt and only that. The rest of you can help complete the log huts, but I’ve been noticing how these big shot council members have been conserving their energy, disguising it as leading. If that’s their game, I won’t be so weak as to have someone overpower me.

  At Ken’s outburst, several onlookers shifted nervously. A couple even nodded in agreement, frowning at Joe as though to say, Maybe Ken has a point. Others looked at the huts in progress, anxious about the possibility of internal conflict—and the dire reality of continuing without enough food or water.

  Joe’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm. The edge in Ken’s voice was doing real damage, stirring the seeds of mutiny. Joe paused, inhaling through his nose, searching for the right words to defuse the moment without losing authority.

  A bystander in the crowd, (tentatively interjected):

  “Joe, maybe… maybe Ken’s right? We can’t just keep building if we don’t have water or food. What if we send out a second team? More prepared this time?”

  Another bystander:

  “At the rate we’re going, half of us might starve before the huts are even finished!”

  A rumble of agreement followed. Ken stood a bit straighter, crossing his arms, a smug sort of satisfaction playing on his face. Joe clenched his fists discreetly, then let them relax at his sides.

  Joe (exhaling slowly):

  “Look, I get it. I’m not blind to the fact that we’re all running on fumes here. But if we run into it blindly—no plan, no strategy—we might just be signing more death warrants. We do have a real plan in progress. Like I said before, I’ve been working on taking care of each and every one of you. With each passing day, we craft and make improvements, which means improved weapons, training and putting together scouting squads, and a rotation that won’t leave everyone too exhausted to defend themselves if something goes wrong.”

  He paused, glancing around at the half-constructed huts and the exhausted workers. Some were leaning on their tools, eavesdropping with exhausted faces.

  Joe softening just a bit:

  “Tomorrow, I’ll meet with the other generals again. We’ll finalize the next scouting mission for food and water, with better equipment. Ken, if you’re serious about hunting, then sign up as soon as we can put a team together that won’t keel over the moment we step foot in the forest. I’m not trying to keep anyone from survival—and you’re going to hear me say this a lot, but                  I’m trying to keep all of us alive, not just a handful of us who think they can go it alone.”

  Ken lifted an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, though the mention of a new scouting team sparked a flicker of hope in him and others in the crowd. Still, tension hovered in the air like a brewing storm.

  Ken (in a low, mocking drawl):

  “Fine. Another day. But I’m not wasting an ounce of my strength building your dream when I can be forging my own. If you don’t make a move by sundown tomorrow, Joe, I will. And I won’t be going alone.”

  With that, Ken turned sharply on his heel, leaving a charged silence behind. A few people from the crowd also stepped out, and gave Joe a dark glare before trailing after Ken, while the majority of the crowd lingered, uncertainly.

  Joe rubbed a hand over his buzzed hair, glaring momentarily at the ground.

  Jewels approached cautiously from the sidelines.

  That… could have gone worse, she said.

  Joe (a wry laugh escaping):

  “Or better. Either way, we need results soon, or Ken, and his new followers won’t be the only ones bolting into that forest.”

  Throughout the rest of the day, tensions remained high. In small work circles, people whispered about Ken’s threat, about the possibility of going rogue for the sake of survival. Others expressed renewed trust in Joe—at least he had a plan.

  With every passing hour, the rumble of empty stomachs became more pronounced, and the memory of Team Uno’s absence loomed large.

  As the hours slipped by and dusk began to settle, Joe decided to walk the perimeter of the settlement—a familiar coping mechanism to untangle his racing thoughts.

  Back on Earth, when life piled too high, the pressure triggered stress attacks. His mind would spiral, chasing a thousand thoughts at once, like a dam cracking under the weight of too much noise.

  Now, beneath an alien sky, he traced the stone outline that marked the edge of their fragile sanctuary. Overhead, stars began to emerge, faint but steady, while the sky’s orange fire slowly dimmed to embers.

  The breeze drifted in, cool and crisp—like wind skipping across the ocean and finally touching dry land. It didn’t just cool him; it revived him. For a moment, it felt like something sacred, like his soul was taking a drink.

  He paused every few steps, eyes combing the tree line, senses sharpened. He wasn’t just walking—he was listening, watching. The forest was close now. Closer than he realized. And with each step, he put more distance between himself and the others gathering at the heart of the settlement, where the bonfire was being lit.

  The forest loomed, tall and silent. He looked up at the trees, their silhouettes stark against the sky. That’s when it hit him.

  His mind was still.

  So was the forest.

  Not a rustle. Not a breath of wind. Just the sound of his own heartbeat—thudding, slow and loud in his ears. Even the usual creaks and distant animal calls had vanished.

  Everything was waiting.

  Behind him, faint and warm, came the distant voices of the others, drawn like moths to the new flame. But out here, on the edge, something else pressed in.

  And Joe wasn’t sure if the quiet brought him peace—or warning.

  Come to think of it, the fact that he could hear the settlers from such a distance struck Joe as odd. The sun had dipped past the crater walls, but twilight still held the sky—just enough light to cast long shadows and stir unease.

  He was at least 240 yards from the campfire. By all logic, the crackle of flames and hum of conversation shouldn’t have reached him.

  Joe slowly tore his gaze from the stars and looked into the forest. As he did, a warm buzz crawled over his skin, rising through his chest and neck. He shut his eyes, hoping the sensation would pass, blaming it on the return of his racing thoughts.

  But the feeling deepened. Not just heat or nerves—energy.

  His imagination, usually so dormant, flared like a struck match. Joe had never been the creative type—just consistent, focused, methodical. But something in him had shifted. The forest around him began to bleed into the forest within him. And in that blur of perception, strange things stirred.

  With each step, it felt as though the mountains were moving, their weight shifting in time with his feet. The trees leaned in. The ground exhaled. And through it all, a din rose—not from the outside, but from within. His thoughts. His voices.

  He tried to shake them off, tried to anchor himself in something solid. Ken. That name came sharp, grounding. He clung to it. If he could just focus on Ken, he could reorient.

  But the whispers—soft, persistent—cut through.

  They weren't memories. They weren’t his. They spoke of strategy. Of unity. Of sacrifices for the good of the collective. As if they knew what was coming. As if they’d been watching.

  Shapes flickered behind his eyes—foreign, detailed images he’d never imagined before: a top-down view of the forest, shifting like a map being sketched in real time. Thoughts pinged through his mind like signals from something not-quite-him.

  Joe clenched his fists. Focus.

  He needed Ken back in line. If he didn’t act soon, Ken could—no, would—fracture the settlement’s fragile unity. His influence, his pride, his ideas—unconfined, they would split the colony in two.

  Tomorrow’s meeting with Lady Vee and Gemski would be critical. One way or another, decisions would be made. The next move would shape the fate of everyone.

  With men like Ken—capable, relentless—there was still hope, if they could uncover some clue about why they were here, what they were dealing with, who they were becoming.

  Joe's thoughts were sharpening, aligning—and then, out of nowhere, a new one slammed into him like a sledgehammer.

  "Who the fuck... No—how the fuck?"

  New worries wormed their way into his mind, uninvited and potent: Whoever or whatever brought us here could be watching. There was no proof, no footprints or clues, but it gnawed at him. He exhaled sharply, forcing down the instinct to yell at the darkness. Focus on survival first. His priority was the people—yet his mind refused to let go of the weaving dread. Not even the distraction of survival was preventing him from thinking about the true threat.

  Joe (muttering under his breath, eyes scanning the distant tree line):

  "I gotta stop looking for ghosts. We've got real problems—food, water, shelter. Worrying about imaginary enemies won't help right now…”

  But the thought wouldn't quit: the possibility that some advanced intelligence had orchestrated their arrival here, that they might be under observation. That's definitely something he and the old Earth government agencies would do…

  What if it's a trap? What if these unknowns are planning something worse? The anger started to build in his chest, hot and insistent. A part of him almost wanted to meet this unseen adversary right now, just to end the guessing.

  His gaze flicked down to his forearm. The scars he'd carried for years—gone. Carefully, he traced the spot where a jagged piece of shrapnel had once dug into his flesh. Now, smooth skin. No aches, no lingering stiffness, nothing. His shoulders rolled with unnatural ease, muscles responding more fluidly than ever. It felt… wrong but, at the same time, so right. The energy that was building up within his flesh, his muscles, it felt like power and lust.

  How is that possible?

  How did they patch me up so flawlessly?

  The question twisted his gut. He wanted to protect everyone, help them adapt, and even fight back if needed—but how do you fight an enemy capable of modifying your body in an instant without your knowledge? And not just you—maybe everyone else, too. Were they all still human? Or something new?

  Joe gritted his teeth, recalling the reason he'd joined the military in the first place: fighting for his country, saving lives, establishing order. Now, he wanted to rally these 2,995 strangers into a disciplined unit—maybe they could survive whatever came next.

  Joe (thinking):

  "We might even turn the tables… Technology can be learned, traps can be reverse-engineered. If we can find them—whoever they are—we can take what we need."

  A flicker of anticipation sparked behind his eyes while another part of him worried if the people were truly ready.

  Then came a pang in his head: a distant ring followed by a buzz that began in the back of his skull, working its way forward. His stride faltered. That old demon. It reminded him that, despite the physical changes, one aspect was definitely not fixed: his mental scars. The doctors had called it alexithymia—a condition that dulled his fear, but the psychic stress on this planet manifested as a brutal whining swarm in his head.

  He pressed a palm against his ear, grimacing as the buzzing ring grew louder. Another memory tore through him: the moment they pinned that fifth star on his uniform, the looks from superiors who wondered if he even understood fear like a normal person. He'd proved them right by volunteering for suicidal missions, never blinking at the risk—and always returning without casualties.

  But right now, that buzzing threatened to drown out everything. He stood there at the forest's edge, each breath turning ragged.

  Whispering to himself:

  "Five stars by the time I was twenty-eight… I was the youngest in my division. They said my disposition was the cause of the accident that blew my cover—they found out that I was being reckless due to my… condition. I've tried to simulate the feeling of fear for those around me, but it was never convincing. I've tried to ignore the mental stress, but… that ringing…”

  His voice low. Trembling with anger:

  "Don't you dare underestimate us… I don't care how advanced you are or how impossible this place seems. If you threaten my people—“

  He cut himself off, realizing he was talking to the empty air. Yet part of him believed something—someone—might be listening. A swirl of conflicting emotions churned in his gut: worry for his people, fury at being toyed with, and the eager desire to face this unknown enemy head-on.

  He could picture it—uniting everyone under a single plan, amassing knowledge and skill until they were no longer helpless pawns in an alien game.

  (The ringing and sounds crescendoed as he pressed his palms against his ears. A faint buzz hums at the edge of his hearing and quickly grows louder—like a swarm of angry hornets inside his skull.)

  He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady himself. Keep it together, Joe. Forcing a deep breath, he attempted to will the pain away as he had back on Earth, then continued toward the distant glow of the settlement's fire.

  Each step felt heavier, as though the weight of command bore down on him, but his resolve solidified. I can lead them, he told himself. I can shape them. We'll tear apart anything that tries to destroy us.

  He stumbled forward, heart pounding. The world seemed to tilt. He could still hear the faint chatter and a couple of strained laughs in the distance—people clinging to hope, that image was clear in his mind. Joe realized he had to head back before losing the remaining daylight, but it felt like every time he moved, the settlement got further away.

  All surrounding sound was drowned out by the piercing noise in his ears.

  Another wave of ringing hammered at his mind, with dizziness teasing at the edges of his vision. In the swirl of it all came those same, relentless thoughts: Whatever brought us here… we'll destroy it if we have to. He pictured training everyone—soldiers, hunters, civilians. Together, they'd survive. If they needed to hunt the ones responsible, so be it.

  Joe (slurred, almost delirious):

  "They… they can't… we won't let them just… we'll kill them if they try… oh, God—“

  His knees gave out as the ring crescendoed once more, forcing him to scream in pain as he collapsed. Then everything went black—not a gentle faint, but a complete mental shutdown, the last shreds of awareness evaporating in the onslaught. The final thing he heard was the dull whisper of someone's voice—"Damn, he broke your…"—and then all sense of time or place vanished.

  Day 3.

  Total Population: 2,995.

  Total Deaths: 0.

  Total Missing: 5.

  Notable Events:

  Initial shelters completed. (20 huts).

  Concerns about food and water raised by Ken.